


i am weak for you, my love

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Jaskier never thought he'd have blood on his hands, but he always knew he'd do anything for Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 557





	i am weak for you, my love

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a tiny ficlet... like 1k words at most and well... oops that didnt happen
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier only carried one weapon on him: a small dagger he kept hidden in his boot for emergencies. He never used it. Never had to, especially with Geralt around to save the day whenever things got sticky.

But he always assumed if he ever had to use it, it’d be a _big_ thing. Like there’d be a monster, with big claws and scary fangs, and he’d have to jump in to save the day.

Save Geralt, even, from danger and the Witcher would finally see him as a capable travel companion, left with no other choice in the face of his bravery.

Jaskier hadn’t practiced a lot with his dagger but sometimes when Geralt was sleeping, he’d sneak away and play around with it, stabbing trees and cheering to himself when the tree, predictably, did not fight back and he won.

Anyway, point was he had the whole thing planned out. He never imagined he’d end up using his dagger on a human. At least he was still protecting Geralt, so the whole thing wasn’t ruined.

They were traveling together, quiet. Geralt had stopped trying to push him away. He was still far from friendly most days, but he was more respectful toward Jaskier, always including him in future plans and making sure he came back with enough food for two.

Jaskier wasn’t really paying attention, drumming a tune on his thigh with his fingers.

Geralt stopped suddenly and Jaskier bumped into his back, scrambling back a few steps with an apologetic look.

Geralt looked at him, seriously, and put a finger to his lips, silently telling him to be quiet. That was always a hard task for Jaskier but he knew Geralt had probably sensed something.

So he obeyed, pressing his lips together.

Geralt looked around, slow, and that’s when Jaskier heard it: twigs crunching. He glanced at Geralt but he seemed focused on something else, eyes narrowed.

Frowning, Jaskier brushed it off. Probably just an animal.

Geralt obviously knew better, all things considered. So he waited, taking a few steps back when Geralt gestured him back, obviously intending to keep him out of the line of fire.

Jaskier fidgeted with the strap of his bag, his lute hanging heavily on his back, eyes darting all over the place.

He heard more twigs snapping, closer now, and looked at Geralt. He seemed prepared for it, pulling his sword out.

Jaskier relaxed a little. He was worrying for nothing. Geralt always took care of things.

Finally the trees parted and a fucking _deer_ jumped out, startling Jaskier back a few steps, almost landing on his ass. Geralt seemed startled, too, but not as much. He frowned, lowering his sword, and watched as the deer ran off.

Jaskier took a deep breath and righted himself, adjusting his shirt. “Well, _that_ was certainly anticlimac - ”

Before he could even finish his sentence, he saw it: a group of thieves hidden in the trees. His heart stilled in his chest and he tried to warn Geralt but the words caught in his throat, almost painful.

The whole thing had been a trick, he realized with painful clarity.

One of the thieves jumped out of the trees, two daggers in his hands, rushing Geralt, an obvious goal in mind that had nothing to do with Jaskier.

Jaskier’s heart thumped loudly in his chest and the next few seconds moved in slow motion. He leaned down and yanked his dagger out of the top of his boot.

The thief wasn’t even looking at him. He’d obviously assumed he was no threat and normally he'd be right.

Jaskier bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper as he lunged forward, aiming wildly.

He heard screaming - both from the man, and the other thieves and finally he heard Geralt’s gasp, soft and almost drowned out by the rest of the noise.

Jaskier stabbed blindly, once, twice, his eyes squeezed shut. All he could think was _Geralt. I have to protect Geralt, like he always protects me._

He felt a hand on his arm, gentle. Jaskier opened his eyes with a gasping breath and saw red everywhere, blood splattered across his arm and the dagger stained with it.

He’d stabbed the man in the throat and he was pouring blood. Jaskier took a shaky step back, dropping his dagger, and looked at Geralt. He heard more than saw the thief fall to the ground with a thud.

“The - there’s more,” he stammered.

Geralt was still touching his arm, a gentle pressure, most likely the only thing keeping him from losing his mind. “They’re gone,” he grunted. “Left after you - ” he didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Jaskier let out a sudden sharp sob. He’d done many things for survival before, he’d even killed animals when he was on his own and needed food but this was no animal. He barely even registered he was trembling.

“I - I killed someone,” he said through a sob, staring at his bloody hands and feeling lightheaded, like he was viewing them through someone else’s eyes.

Geralt’s fingers closed around his arm as he tugged him closer, away from the body on the ground. Jaskier went limply. He had no fight left in him.

Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder, taking a shuddering breath. He was so stupid. Geralt killed for a living and here he was sobbing like a fucking baby on his shoulder because he’d killed a thief, a criminal, who’d obviously been intending to kill or at least seriously wound Geralt first.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, voice uncharacteristically soft, placing a hand on the bard’s lower back.

He sniffed, buried his face harder against Geralt’s shoulder. He didn’t reply but Geralt didn’t seemingly care; he evidently had his own things to say.

He rubbed his back lightly through his clothes. “I’m not going to tell you to stop crying,” he continued, voice a little rougher, “because that never fucking helps.”

Jaskier laughed, wet and thick.

“But I will say this: you saved my life, Jaskier.” He knew that, of course, but the panic still wasn’t subsiding, irrational in the face of _I just fucking killed someone._ Geralt reached up with his other hand and gently forced Jaskier to look at him. “Thank you.”

Jaskier stared at him. He knew he probably looked disgusting with snot running down his face, tears streaming down his face. He tasted copped and salt.

But Geralt was staring at him like he was something special, his thumb lightly brushing a few tears away. “Thank you,” he repeated.

And fuck, Jaskier just cried harder, burying his face back in Geralt’s shoulder, clawing at his back as he sobbed, realizing what could’ve happened if he hadn’t stepped in. Geralt was a Witcher but he wasn’t invincible. He could’ve died. He could’ve left Jaskier all alone and that was simply not an option.

Geralt was silent after that, just rubbing his back in slow circles.

Geralt was many things, patient wasn’t usually one of them. But in that moment he was. He didn’t say anything or rush Jaskier along in his neverending panic, just stood with him, holding him in his arms and waiting until he calmed down enough to pull back.

“We should go, get away from…” he trailed off and though he didn’t look in the direction of the fallen body Jaskier knew what he was referring to.

He nodded, quiet, and let Geralt wrap an arm around his shoulders, leading him away from the area. Jaskier barely noticed they’d stopped until his vision cleared and he saw Geralt laying out the blanket on the ground.

Jaskier looked around; they were standing in a small clearing and he could hear a stream somewhere nearby.

Geralt finished setting up camp and straightened up. He took Jaskier’s arm and made him sit down.

He sat and watched as Geralt started a fire. He remembered vaguely that he’d left his dagger behind and felt an unexpected pang of sadness. He’d bought that dagger years ago, long before he met Geralt, when he was a young man traveling alone and knew he needed it.

“I’m a murderer,” he whispered and Geralt was by his side in seconds. He looked up into his eyes and almost felt guilty for his words. Surely Geralt had killed many more people, things, the whole lot of it.

Geralt stared back at him. “You’re not,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You killed in self defense; there is a difference.”

Jaskier wasn’t sure he believed him but he nodded anyway. He reached out for one of Geralt’s hands and oddly the Witcher didn’t pull away. He settled on the blanket beside Jaskier and let the bard intertwine their fingers.

“I don’t regret it,” he said firmly even as his hands shook. “I’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe.”

Geralt smiled, it was brief and only for a second but it was a smile nevertheless. A sad smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “You are very brave, Jaskier.”

And for once it wasn’t spoken with humor. He genuinely meant it. Jaskier’s eyes welled with tears again.

“I would do anything for you, Geralt,” he said and he was almost frightened by how much he meant it.

Geralt nodded, stroking the back of Jaskier’s hand with his thumb. “You should rest,” he said roughly. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

Jaskier was too weak to argue. So when Geralt pushed him down, gently, he went. He laid on the blanket and was about to fall asleep, admittedly tired, when he caught the sight of his hands out of the corner of his eye, still covered in blood.

His stomach lurched and he sat up so fast he nearly collided heads with Geralt, who pulled back with a frown.

“Hands, hands,” he stammered and Geralt evidently got the message. He grabbed his hands and stood up, helping Jaskier to his feet.

Geralt silently led him away from their camp and when looked up he was standing in front of a stream with clear blue water.

He suddenly felt like crying again but Geralt didn’t falter for a second. He led him to a rock.

“Sit,” he instructed and Jaskier obeyed.

Geralt walked to the edge of the water and ducked down. Jaskier noticed he was holding a rag and wondered briefly when he’d had the chance to grab that.

He dunked it under the water and rung it out before returning, gently taking Jaskier’s hands. He scrubbed them clean, gentle but quick, until his hands were clean.

Geralt looked up into his face and gently brought the rag up to his cheek, lightly rubbing. Jaskier almost puked at the thought of that man’s blood on his face, but he refrained.

Finished, Geralt tossed the rag, obviously with no intentions of keeping it and helped Jaskier back to his feet.

He wanted to yell at him, say he was being stupid. It wasn’t like his feet were broken but truthfully he just appreciated the help, the comfort of having Geralt nearby.

He led him back to their camp and Jaskier laid back down without prompting, curling up and feeling so impossibly small. Geralt watched him for a moment, obviously making sure he was settled, before he went to stand.

Jaskier barely even registered his own movement. He grabbed onto the front of Geralt’s shirt. “Please,” he said, voice muffled, “don’t leave me alone.”

Geralt hmmed, a low thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. For a second Jaskier thought he was going to leave anyway but then he settled back down.

Jaskier didn’t release his shirt until Geralt reached down and took his hand, squeezing. “Get some rest,” he said.

Jaskier nodded silently and closed his eyes. He forced images of the man, dead and bloody, out of his mind and focused instead on the warm feeling of Geralt’s hand.

Before he knew it, he was asleep.

He dreamed of the man, of killing not only him but others, random folks, innocents. He dreamed of feeling numb about it and that scared him the most, stabbing someone and feeling nothing.

Jaskier woke up dry heaving and Geralt rushed over, crouching down and rubbing his back.

“Deep breaths, Jaskier,” he said, and he tried his best, breathing in through his nose and put through his mouth.

Finally, a good five minutes later, he settled down. He looked up at Geralt and smiled, tight. “Sorry,” he croaked.

Geralt grunted and handed him a canister of water, which he graciously accepted, taking a few big gulps.

“I’m - I’m such a bad fucking travel companion, you were right,” he said once he was done, staring down at his hands. He was no longer shaking, at least. “I - I can’t even _help_ you without freaking the fuck out.”

Geralt gripped his shoulder. “Jaskier, I’m thankful.” Jaskier looked up with a sniff. “I understand how you feel. I… okay, that’s not entirely true.” He sighed and sat down, and Jaskier noticed the rigid line of his shoulders. “I’m sure early on I felt something like what you’re feeling now but it’s been so long…”

Jaskier nodded. “Does - does it ever get easier?”

Geralt frowned. “I hope you never have to find out,” he replied. He was blatantly ignoring the question but Jaskier let him, not really in the mood to push. Geralt cleared his throat and Jaskier looked up. He almost looked nervous, sheepish maybe. “I left after you fell asleep last night,” he said, looking anywhere but directly at Jaskier.

Jaskier welcomed the distraction. “Where did you go?” he asked.

Geralt let out a deep sigh as he shifted and pulled something out of pocket. It was long, but not too long, and wrapped in a piece of cloth. Jaskier took a shaky breath. Geralt extended his hand.

Jaskier took it and slowly opened the cloth, peering down at his dagger. It had obviously been cleaned and even sharpened. He let out an unexpected sob.

“I didn’t know if you’d want it back,” he was saying, “but I thought - ”

The dagger dropped on the ground and before Geralt could ask what was wrong Jaskier was throwing himself at him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck. He buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder, squeezing him tight. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I - I didn’t even know if I wanted it back, but um.” He sniffed. “Seeing it now, I - I know I would’ve been upset if I’d left it.”

Geralt nodded and turned his head, burying his face lightly in Jaskier’s hair. “Okay,” he said, a little rough. “Good.”


End file.
